Sublimation
by Countess Verona Dracula
Summary: Silas doesn‘t want to be a ghost anymore. But he hasn’t stopped to think about the consequences of becoming human... [PreDVC]
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer- I own nothing but the plot and Victor. Everything else belongs to Dan Brown. 

Rating- PG-13: For thematic material. Nothing worse than the book.

A/N-- This story popped into my head because I was practicing for my kung fu test, which involved me hitting myself repeatedly on the back with my sword on accident, and then the next day I actually hit myself with the blade and now I have this humongous black/purple/green/yellow welt on my leg.

So anyway, I absolutely adore Silas, and I hope my first foray into DVC fanfiction is pleasing to you all.

I had to take some liberty with Silas and Aringarosa's history. The book never states how long they've known each other or what really happened to Silas between Aringarosa finding him and his joining of Opus Dei, or when exactly they started dealing with the Teacher.

For those who don't know, sublimation is a chemical process in which a solid turns to a vapor, bypassing the liquid stage all together.

* * *

Sublimation- Part One 

The first time Victor saw Silas, his first instinct was to say that Bishop Aringarosa had brought a ghost to Opus Dei. Instead he painted on a smile and tried not to let his eyes linger too long on the white shadow in front of him.

"It's good to have you back from Spain, Father. And what's your name?"

The man was startled by this acknowledgement of his presence. Maybe he was a ghost after all. He looked to Aringarosa in puppyish worry.

"His name is Silas." Aringarosa said. "I'm going to show him to a room, and then I want you to meet me in my office."

All the while as Aringarosa spoke, Silas remained frozen at his side. Victor didn't even think he blinked. His eyes were neither focused or unfocused; they were the glassy eyes of the dead bodies on TV. Victor caught himself too late staring. Silas dropped his dead eyes to the floor in shame.

"Where did you find him?" Was the first thing he said when he entered Aringarosa's office.

"He was left beaten and starved on my doorstep when I was a missionary in Oviedo. He saved my life from robbers and I have taken care of him ever since. He didn't even have a name before I found him." This last statement was said with quiet pain. "I have wanted to bring him here before, but he was reluctant. You can imagine what he's been through."

"Certainly." Without thinking, they both glanced to the wooden crucifix on the wall. "What are your... intentions for him?"

Aringarosa waited to answer this. _I just want my son to be happy, _was what he wanted to say, but that wouldn't satisfy Victor's question.

"I want him to find what I've found here in Opus Dei," He said at last. "I won't always be with him. I can't always be with him, especially now that I've become a Bishop. I need someone to be his guide."

"Me." It was trapped between a question and a statement. Aringarosa frowned, catching the undertow of dread.

"He is a son of God the same as you, Victor. Don't judge him."

"I don't mean to, Father. And I won't."

"Good. That is all I needed to talk about. I don't mean to be rude, but I need privacy now." He sighed and pressed one hand to his forehead.

"Has something happened, Father?"

"Nothing," Manuel Aringarosa smiled a thin smile, his eyes filled with a tiredness stronger than jetlag. "I just received a very interesting phone call while I was in Spain."

* * *

So Victor was dubbed Silas's keeper, and soon discovered that this meant that he was one of the only people in the entire Opus Dei who knew of his existence. When he told his colleagues about the white shadow living in their dormitories, many asked to meet him. Victor could never convince him to come.

"Aren't you hungry? Don't you want to go for a walk, or to the church to pray with me?" He'd ask in near desperation.

Silas would just glance at him, and say in his gravelly voice, "I will be fine alone." Then he would look out his window once more. Victor had the feeling that Silas would never tire of seeing the sky.

Gradually Victor's friends began to tease him. _Are you seeing things?_ They asked. _A ghost, perhaps?_ He just shrugged helplessly in response. If he hadn't seen Bishop Aringarosa bring Silas to Opus Dei and commend him to his care, he wouldn't believe the man was real either. For months he lived there, and Victor never saw him venture from his room.

How could he guide a man who seemed incapable of taking a single step outside his own room?

He stopped trying to go up to his room and talk with him. He couldn't even lead the horse to water; if he wanted to die of dehydration, it was his choice. Time wore on and he even ceased to think about Silas, until one day in December when a storm fit for a second ark crashed down on New York. Then he caught himself staring out of a window and wondering if Silas still found this wrathful sky entrancing, or if the banshee wind had torn him away at last and left no trace of his existence but a haunting memory of downcast eyes and white skin.

"God seems distressed, Brother Victor."

Victor's heart stopped at the sound of Aringarosa's voice. He turned and gave the Bishop a shaky smile.

"I wonder what could've caused it."

The Bishop smiled in return, and it was the fraternal twin of the smile he'd worn in his office on the day he asked Victor to care for Silas. True to his word, Aringarosa hadn't been about much since.

"Tell me, Victor... how is my Silas?"

Thunder resounded outside, filling the void left when Victor's heart stopped beating.

"Father, I have tried... but he won't... he doesn't..."

The storm raged on outside. Aringarosa raised a hand and silenced Victor's stutters.

"I didn't expect you to work miracles, Victor. He will come in God's own time. Just help him when he's ready."

Despite this, Victor felt guilty when he walked away. He'd given up on Silas. Whatever the Bishop had said, that meant that Victor failed him. He resolved then to go and find Silas begin God's work again.

Ironically, it was Michael who found him first. He was one of Victor's closest friends within Opus Dei, so he was naturally the one who teased him the most about the supposed albino he was to take under his wing.

"I can't talk right now, Michael. There's something I've gotta take care of."

"Really? What?"

"I have to go and find Silas. I just talked to Bishop Aringarosa."

Michael laughed.

"You haven't talked about him in a long time. I thought for sure you'd stopped seeing things."

"Knock it off, Michael. He's real."

"I just can't believe that the only people who see him are you and the Bishop. How could the rest of us have missed him all this time?"

"He's shy. I think he stays in his room a lot."

"A lot or all the time? No one could stay in their room for this long."

"He was in prison for years, the Bishop told me. Maybe it's a... habit."

Victor hadn't looked where they were walking, and he was startled to realize they were in one of the smaller chapels in the building. What was even more stunning was that it wasn't empty. Rain lashed the windows and feeble light illuminated a white head that seemed to float in black clothes, praying in French.

"He's here." Victor said in a choked whisper, feeling a shiver without knowing why.

Michael did a double-take, then laughed before he could stop himself. "Why, look! It's the Holy Ghost!"

Silas came to his feet with surprising grace and turned to face them. When his eyes fell on them Michael sucked in his breath.

Victor could've struck his friend when he watched Silas's face change and fall. He seemed to turn a whiter shade of pale in the light of the storm, or perhaps it was out of shame. He bowed his head and fled the chapel. Without a word of parting to his friend, Victor followed him back to his room.

"Why have you followed me?" He asked in his strange accent when they got there, his broad shoulders tight with fear of another insult.

"I want to apologize for Michael. What he said was stupid and insensitive. I wanted you to meet some of the other members when you arrived, and when I kept telling them about you but you never showed..."

"I became a joke. A blasphemous joke." Just hearing the words left a bitter taste in Victor's mouth.

"I never laughed."

"I wouldn't be surprised if you had. _Yo soy una fantasma_." He said with an apologetic shrug. He sat on his bed and resumed staring at the window. Victor considered his words carefully before he continued.

"Silas, you've been here for months now. Have you considered becoming a numerary?"

The drawn blonde eyebrows signaled confusion.

"All you'd have to do is give your material possessions to Opus Dei and take a vow of chastity. Its basically a modern term for a monk, and it's the next highest level of membership. I'm sure the Bishop would like it if you did."

"Father Manuel hasn't come to see me in a very long time." Silas remarked, casting down his eyes. "I will think about this." _Please leave me _was the unspoken command at the end.

So Victor did leave, and pray he was pointing Silas down the right path. After all, Bishop Aringarosa had never said which road was the one he should take. He meant to bring it up with him as soon as he returned from his trip, which was a week away.

Silas got to him first.

"I want to become a... numerary." He took extra care on every syllable. Asking for something for himself was a foreign language. He stood in the doorway of Victor's room, his large frame blocking out every ray of afternoon sunshine.

"Alright," Victor buckled. "Just come with me."

In reality nothing changed much. Silas had already been living in the Opus Dei building in the same place as the other numeraries, only now they took away his bed and gave him a straw mat and pillow. The next day, Victor came up to his room after the morning mass.

"Why weren't you at mass?"

"I prayed here." Silas said.

"You should come down there. That's where everyone else is."

"No one would want me. It would be... awkward." He finished after casting for the right word.

"If you can't respect yourself, Silas, no one can respect you."

The white shadow had nothing to say to this.

"Now come on," Victor sighed, thinking he recognized why Aringarosa was always so tired. "You've missed breakfast. Let's go to the kitchens and get some food for you. When_have_ you been eating all this time?"

"I go down while everyone else is at mass and take some food from the kitchens for my dinner."

"And otherwise?"

Another eloquent silence.

"That's it. You and I are taking a walk. You've been in here too long and you need to eat."

Silas froze and stared at Victor. The other numerary could see the desire to rebel in his eyes- _who am I to go out there and be in everyone's way?_ -and the fear of doing so- _who am I to say no?_

"Please come with me?" Victor asked.

Silas went to the foot of his bed and retrieved his shoes, and followed Victor out of the building like a man being led to the gallows. When they were outside in the screaming freight train of motion and sound that was New York on a Monday morning, Victor could swear he saw him get paler still.

"I know a great restaurant just a block away. I haven't been there in a while, but they should still serve the best pancakes in New York."

"Pancakes?"

Victor froze.

"You don't know what_pancakes_ are?"

A short, silent shake of the head.

"Where were you born?"

"France."

"Well, I guess they're a bit like crepes. Only... thicker." He foundered at that point, waving his hand. "You'll like them." _I hope._

As they walked the crowd forced the two numeraries to walk close together. Silas was slightly behind Victor, giving him the impression that he'd melt into the smaller man if he could. True, there were a few stares, but the larger part of New York ignored them. Victor could still sense Silas's relief once they were inside and sitting at a back corner booth.

Victor ordered for them, and then waited in strained silence for the food to come. He watched with bated breath as Silas cut a small piece of his pancake and ate it, keeping his head down the whole time. He chewed for a bit, then swallowed. There was a pause, and then he cut another piece. Victor could've let out a sigh of relief. He began cutting up his own pancakes and then reached for the syrup, feeling guilty at the indulgence but unable to resist.

_I'll say a few Hail Mary's later._

"Do you want some?" He asked when he was done, offering the syrup to Silas. He swallowed what he was eating and then eyed the bottle with thinly veiled suspicion.

"What is it?"

"I guess it would make sense that you've never had syrup, considering you'd never had a pancake before. Why don't you try some of mine? I've got a pool going." He pushed his plate closer to Silas so he could dip one of his own pieces in.

Silas stared at the plate, then quietly said, "I'll put some on my own."

Victor gave him the bottle and then found himself reflecting on how strange this breakfast was as he watched Silas fiddle with the top. It was the most human thing he'd ever seen him do, and he couldn't help but stare. Whatever this man did, Victor stared. Maybe he wasn't a ghost, but a miracle. And now Silas stared back, and stared at the objects of Victor's world like they were wonders too. Maybe the miracles weren't in a blind man seeing or a dead man breathing, but in the tiniest things around them.

Silas cursed when his hand slipped and he poured more syrup than he intended, sullying the edge of one pancake. He cut off another piece and dipped just the corner in. It was the tiniest piece and only a drop of syrup, but he seemed to savor this one more than the rest.

"It's sweet." He murmured, half to himself.

"Yea," Victor replied. "Good, isn't it? We don't get it much back at Opus Dei."

"I shouldn't eat it." Silas said, recalling the plain food he ate once a day.

"It's up to you." Victor shrugged.

But he saw it. When Silas thought he wasn't looking, he dipped another piece, a large piece, in all the way to his clear maple pool. By the time Victor asked for their check, Silas's plate was wiped clean.

* * *

Days of those small miracles passed. Once a week Victor took Silas to the small restaurant that was only a block away in space but seemed eons away in time, a world apart with separate rules where they weren't men of God but simply something that amounted to friends. Silas always put the syrup on his plate with a flash of undisguised guilt, but he relished every bite of the small sin.

Exactly a month after they first went to the restaurant, Victor took Silas out with him again. He had just convinced him to come to the communal mass in the largest church of the building, but they skipped out on breakfast.

"Let's just stay in the chapel after and say a few more prayers to excuse ourselves for the syrup." He whispered to Silas when they passed on their way inside. He stood so near to the other numerary that he could feel the warmth radiating off of him, and he could swear he saw the pale lips quirk up in a smile.

The streets were unusually crowded as they made their pilgrimage. Several times they were forced apart, but Silas was never really that far behind. Victor once asked him if he ever went out without him, and the negative reply had worried him. What if one day he, like Aringarosa, couldn't be there with Silas? Would he slip away once more? He was conscious as he hadn't been before of the burden of his ward.

The crowds finally cleared enough for Victor and Silas to walk side by side. Victor was walking closest to the buildings, shielded by Silas from the wind blowing towards them. It was the sudden cold that first made him notice the other numerary was gone.

Victor glanced in his direction and noticed that a woman had run into Silas carelessly. She wore a miniskirt and three inch heels, and her top left most of her back bare. He didn't feel disgust so much as hopelessness; what was the world coming to?

"Hurry up, Silas." He called. When he walked a few more steps and Silas was still not beside him, he turned back. All he could see was the other man's retreating back, clenched with fury as it had been the day Michael found him in the chapel.

"Silas!" He called, walking back. "Silas!" A crowd swallowed him like Jonah's whale, leaving Victor to chase Silas all the way back to Opus Dei.

"What's wrong?" He asked once they were in the privacy of Silas's room. Silas stood facing the window, saying nothing. "Hey. Talk to me. What happened? Did she say something to you?"

"No." He made a strangled sound of rage and punched the wall. Dust fluttered out of the new dent and Victor's heart galloped in his chest.

"Silas?"

"I saw her and I thought..." He made the sound again. Victor started forward but his hands remained loose at his side. "I thought of what it would be like to have her beneath me. In my mind I didn't even bother with the clothes. I just took her."

Victor didn't blush at the frank admission. He reached out without thinking and put his hand on Silas's shoulder. They both flinched at the sudden contact, locking eyes.

"It's okay. You're a guy, and the clothes she's wearing were designed to make guys think things like that."

"I am a man of God." Silas muttered.

"Yes, but that doesn't_make_ you God. You're not above temptation. That's what makes your struggle more meaningful. There wouldn't even be a struggle otherwise."

Silas shook his head.

"This isn't the first time I've thought about that. I've thought it even when I am alone here. I need a way to stop this, to prove my commitment to God."

"Then pray toHim the next time you think it."

"That's not enough." He reached up and ran his right hand across his face. Victor watched as he did so, seeing the dusting of blood across it.

"Do you mean you want physical control?" He asked quietly. Silas nodded, the way he always did, a silent movement that hung in the air like an echo. "Then I think I have a way."

TBC...

* * *

A/N-- This was meant to be a one-shot, but it looks like it's turning into a two part deal. It was just longer than I thought. I'll have the next part up sometime next week!

In the meantime, let me know what you thought of that and wish me luck on my test this Saturday. My face might come out of there looking like Silas's back...


	2. Chapter 2

A/N-- Thanks for the great response, guys! That made my week a whole lot better. This chapter is for all of you! 

**Sign of the Rose**- Thank you for wishing me good luck! And I'm so pleased you like Victor. I needed a narrator for this and he just sort of appeared. I'm very happy that he grew so nicely without me really plotting where he was going.  
**FuchsiaII**- The incident with the bottle of syrup was planned to make him look more human- I'm so glad it did! And we'll see about your prediction for Victor.  
**fabala4077**- That penname sounds so familiar... Thanks for the review! I'm glad Silas came out right. My whole purpose of this fic was to show that he wasn't always a maniac- I wanted to show his slow downward slide towards it.  
**Lily ()**- Many thanks for your review!  
**Erin**- I'm glad you enjoyed the characterization and Victor. Here's your continuation!  
**AzureOcelot**- Thank you for your review! That's some high praise you gave me! And we'll see what role Aringarosa plays later in this last section.  
**Scifi-warper**- I'm surprised everyone likes Victor so much! Thank you nonetheless!

A brief note- I refer to Silas's eyes as red in this. I realize that there has been some debate about whether or not human albinos actually have red eyes and normally I'd like to think of them as blue, but putting them as red just fit the mood of the scene where they're mentioned too well. I'm sure you'll understand once you've read it.

* * *

_Sublimation- Part Two_

A year after Victor first met Silas, the world shifted on its axis. It was a slow change, a groan or a sigh that you registered only dimly. He began to take more notice of things- the sunlight in the chapel, the wind in his face, a certain way someone he knew would laugh or smile - that he had never noticed before. He began to shiver frequently, without knowing why.

"Someone's walking over your grave," Michael told him. "A lot."

He felt one of those shivers as he went up to Silas's room that day. He didn't hesitate before he rapped softly on the door.

_"Entrez-vous."_ Silas was a patchwork quilt of languages; you never knew what would come out of his mouth. Victor assumed it was alright for him to enter and opened the door.

Silas stood with one leg up on the small chair in his room, his robe pulled back up to his hips, revealing a long stretch of white, muscled leg. Fastened onto his thigh was the cilice Victor gave him. He was adjusting the strap and dropped his leg with a faint flush of color when he noticed that Victor was in the room.

Victor shivered again without knowing why, although the cilice was hardly something to be afraid of. Many other numeraries he knew wore them; they just chafed the skin, causing mild discomfort. The Discipline that he had given Silas lay on the chair, its braided linen cords brushing the floor. Neither could break the skin, but they seemed extreme to him nonetheless. Corporal mortification had gone out of style after the flagellants of Plague Era Europe, and Victor believed that violence had nothing to do with God.

"I'm sorry that I missed the early Mass," Silas said. "I was deep in prayer."

"I wasn't there either." Victor admitted with a shrug. "I went to speak to the Bishop."

Silas's eyes brightened. To him, there was only one Bishop.

"Father Manuel is here?"

"He was only here for the night," Victor said regretfully. "And then he had to leave again. But he'll be back next week for Christmas." As if confirming that it really was so late in the year, the winter wind gnawed harder at the window, causing the glass to shiver. An eddying trail of snow was splayed on it.

"Anyway, he and I talked about you. He suggested the you and I go to the retreat together this weekend."

Silas balked visibly. Victor had brought the subject of the Christmas retreat up before, but never as directly as this. It would be just a weekend in a nearby lodge, but the thought of having to help with Bible study and other activities was understandably frightening to Silas.  
Without knowing when, Victor had ceased to even think of him at as a ghost. He had begun to speak with some of the other numeraries, even Michael. He attended most of the communal meals. Victor judged that now was the right time to give him a push and see if he sank or swum.

"I figured it would be the perfect way to celebrate the fact that you've been a numerary for two months now."

"If this is my two month anniversary, I'm afraid to see what ten more months will bring." Silas replied with a fleeting smile.

Victor laughed, not caring that such an unbridled and ungodly emotion was forbidden in Opus Dei, and clapped the other numerary on the back.

"Are you ready to go to breakfast?"

"If you're going toforce me. I will do extra penance later."

They could've been two regular friends as they left the building if it hadn't been for Victor's third shiver of the day. He wondered who exactly was walking over his grave.

* * *

The days melted away as the snow piled up, and the time to leave for the retreat arrived. Silas began the day with silent prayer and couldn't find his tongue afterwards. He sat in a dumb stupor in the car, feeling Victor's nervous stare. He wanted to say something. He had never before found tension in silence; now here it was, the proverbial elephant in the living room. It was strange to face the need for idle chatter and human contact. 

When Victor pulled up at the lodge Silas found his white hand clutching the other numerary's sleeve so hard the creamy bones showed through his skin. He recoiled, disgusted at himself. How could a ghost go white-knuckled?

"Look, it's going to be okay." Victor said calmly, meeting Silas's eyes and putting his hand on his shoulder. "I'll never be far away. You've been assigned to our youngest group, anyway. The kids will see you for who you are. They have a way of doing that." He gave Silas's shoulder a rub.

Silas eased away from him, although there was no sodomy in the touch. There was simply the human companionship he had been longing for the entire trip. It frightened him now. It reminded him of a time when he had put his gun to his head and felt a sudden panic at the thought of a bullet to the brain. Father Manuel found him then and tore the gun away. He shouted angrily, but there was fear in his eyes. Silas had collapsed against him and wept like a child. He hadn't touched a gun since.

Father Manuel. The name brought a pang of both joy and regret. The Bishop had hardly been to see Silas since he brought him to Opus Dei. He always apologized profusely when he did. Silas didn't ask why he was away so often- it wasn't his place -but Victor said it was some sort of official business. He went constantly between the Vatican and Opus Dei, but he was rarely in his rooms when he did come home. No one knew exactly what was going on.

"Oh, here. I have a name tag for you." Victor rummaged around the in the glove compartment and handed Silas a plastic card. He stared at the inane letters-_Hello, my name is Silas_-and the cross that was meant to pin it to him. Here was a stamp as certain as the star of David.

_Come, stare at me. Pretend you're fascinated by the strangeness of my name, make small talk about its origins when really it's the color of my skin you're staring out._

Silas took a deep breath, banished the thoughts, and began a litany of inward Hail Mary's. They built like a tidal wave inside of him, culminating in the ecstasy of the opening services. When they were done and it was time to start the first activity, Silas still hadn't found his voice.

"Come on," Victor muttered, guiding him by the elbow towards a group of young children- none older than seven or so. "It's going to be okay." Silas could tell he was saying it to himself too.

_Please, father_, he prayed halfto Father Manuel and halfto God. _Don't allow me to let my only friend down._

Victor introduced himself to the group of starry eyed children, who pretended to be more interested in the coloring book Bible stories he was showing them than the snow outside. He left an expectant pause afterwards and glanced at him.

"My name is Silas," He rasped. "I will be helping as well." It just tumbled out. Silas was surprised they understood it at all.

"Alright then," Victor beamed, first at his partner and then to the children. "Our room is just over this way. Let's go ahead and get started. Parents, you're welcome to come if you'd like."

A few followed their procession as they walked down the halls of the log structure, which were lined with depictions of scenes from the Bible, all done by Opus Dei members. Some were paintings, others were cross-stitches. One of these had a black background and then Christ on a simple brown cross. The most startling detail were the ruby drops of blood flowing from the cut on his side, stark against the ebony background.

Silas, who was at the rear, paused to look at the picture with an unbecoming sense of jealousy at the fact that the Lord's skin was no paler for his loss of blood. Of course Jesus Christ would be perfect in ways that he wasn't. He was the Son of God. Silas fell so deep into the comforting embrace of his self-loathing that he didn't realize the group had pulled ahead of him. He wasn't even aware of the young girl standing beside him until she came and tugged on the sleeve of his jacket.

"Will you come with me?" She asked. He couldn't help but stiffen a bit, even at the sound of so tiny a voice. "I'm lost too."

_Child, I pray only that you aren't as lost as I am._

"Very well." He said with an awkward, lopsided smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

"Thank you Brother-" She had to stand on tiptoe and crane her neck to see his tag. "Silas." Her gross mispronunciation helped to defrost his smile a little more.

"Silas." He said in soft correction.

"I like your name. Mine is Isabelle." She replied. "Can we go now? I want to color."

Silas nodded and they began to walk in the direction the rest of their group had taken. He could already hear the youthful chatter ahead of them; Isabelle walked close to him, her tiny hand clinging to the leg of his pants in an effort to keep up. They found the room and he steered her inside with a gentle push on her back, thinking that children must have some sort of instinct that allowed them to discern where they were supposed to go. He had always known where to dig for the best scraps when he was a child.

Isabelle took a few steps forward, then turned and looked back at him with a slight frown.

"Aren't you coming with me?"

It was then that Silas noticed that every other child had someone- a parent or a friend -who was coloring with them. Even Victor was working with a small boy, a smile on his face. No one was left alone but the two of them.

"Of course."

Just to make sure he didn't lose his way, Isabelle grasped his pants again and tugged him in the direction of the only empty seat. A fresh box of crayons and an unopened coloring book filled with Bible stories remained. They stood before the chair and Isabelle looked back at Silas again.

"Aren't you going to sit down?"

Silas realized that the chair was rather large for such a small person.

"But where will you sit?"

"On you, of course."

Silas's heart was tripping over itself in nervousness as he sat down. His hands trembled a bit as he lifted Isabelle up; her ribcage felt so delicate in his hands, her pulse feathery and wonderfully alive. She settled herself on him calm as you please, and opened the book. She began to page through the book, her lip drawn into her mouth in concentration.

"No, not this one. I want to find a better one." She'd say to each one. Silas was lulled by the monotony of it, but his palms were sweaty where they rested on his knees. The cilice prickled at his thigh, but he lost track of this annoying detail when Isabelle said something new.

"Silas, do you like this one?" Her impatience betrayed the fact that she had been asking for some time.

"Yes, I suppose it is good enough." He said without really looking at the scene or the Scripture beneath it.

"If you say so." She sighed dramatically.

"But you should choose one_you_ like."

"I know," She giggled, turning around to face him. "I just wanted to trick you."

The fact that anyone could be so innocent as to think that_this_ wastreachery made Silas laugh, and not bitterly. It gave him hope that somewhere in the world the rare bird of innocence did exist. It was a low laugh, barely out of his mouth, one that made his chest rumble and vibrate against her back. She giggled again, then begin to look judiciously through the crayons to find just the right one.

"No peeking." She told him.

Silas nodded and didn't close his eyes so much as allow them to wander over all the other children. Victor was right- they did possess a talent for seeing things plainly and simply, as they were. The eyes of adults were sharp, jaded bits of glass compared to these crystal binoculars. Silas wondered if he'd ever had such eyes and knew this wasn't so; he wished that he'd had them once. Childhood was the perfect time to learn of God; you came to Him openly and adoringly and believed with a deadly blindness in everything He said. You didn't come doubting to Him as Silas had.

He felt near to sleep as time went on. Victor left the small boy he had been working with and came to Silas's side.

"How's it coming?"

"I wouldn't know. I'm not allowed to see." Silas snorted.

"You will soon. Just be patient." Isabelle scolded him.

Victor chuckled. "I have to go to the bathroom. Everyone seems pretty calm here but try and keep an eye on them for me, okay?"

"Very well." Somewhere in Silas's being there was a tremor, too deep for him to feel, like a blow that struck so deep it went past every nerve.

It was only natural that after this tectonic shift that he would feel strangely weightless, like a strong breeze might carry him out the window. As if he were a ghost.

"Look, Silas," Isabelle said, tugging on his sleeve to bring him back to earth. "I put you in the picture."

And there he was, etched in black crayon beside the Nativity. She drew him neatly in black robes and then colored in his face with white crayon. . Red eyes stared back at them both. It was worse than the daily horror of looking in a mirror, which he saw through the jaded glass eyes of an adult. It was worse because it was him in the eyes of a child. Exactly as he was.

It was then that he saw the other children staring at him. It was then that he heard all their parents hissing at them to stop. It was then that he realized that they were all staring at him too.

"You should go to the beach sometime, Silas." Isabelle said, taking his hand and holding it palm up in her lap. "You would look nice with a tan."

Minutes later Silas was running outside. He plunged headlong into the snow. At some point he tore off his black robes and closing his eyes, so that the whole of him was white, just white, so that he could hide in the frigid wasteland.

* * *

Victor felt lighter than air as he left the bathroom. It had worked. Even if Silas wasn't exactly swimming, at least he was treading. At least he wasn't drowning. He had been right about the children; they always showed everything exactly for what it was. 

He felt so light that a good breeze would carry him away, and that was probably why Michael's anger left him floored.

"Where have you been?"

"I had to go to the bathroom. Has something happened?"

"You left your class alone?"

"No. Brother Silas is with them... Isn't he?"

Minutes later a child's coloring book fell from his hands. He didn't even pause to wipe away Isabelle's confused tears. He ran to the black sedan he'd driven up in and leapt into the driver's seat, and drove until his own eyes were too filled with tears to go any farther.

* * *

A/N-- I might as well drag this out a bit longer, don't you think? I'm not really sure if the incident with Isabelle was quite strong enough, so let me know how you felt about that. The third chapter should be up pretty soon! 


	3. Chapter 3

A/N-- Okay, okay. I give in. I'll expand this fic. It just kept trying to do it on its own, and I forgot what a joy it was to write for So I don't know how long it will be, but as of now it's going to be five parts. I think. 

GAH! I was doing so well with this fic, updating it regularly. I know it hasn't been too long, but I still feel bad. Please don't kill me.

**Hearts4Black**- What a relief to get that first review! I was irrationally afraid that the incident with Silas and Isabelle wouldn't work out. Thanks for the reassurance!  
**Princess da Vinci**- Thanks for your review, and let me welcome you personally to   
**whennerdscollide**- LOL! I love your penname and your review! And I don't think anyone is good with words at 2 o clock in the morning!  
**Marie Phantom**- ...GAH! I can't believe I forgot that! bangs head on desk stupid, stupid, stupid! We'll just pretend that there was a heck of a lot of cloud cover. It was snowing after all. I'll put some minor consequences in for him anyway. Thanks for pointing that out!  
**sweetgirl99**- Thank you for such a sincere review! I'm honored to be one of the only people you have reviewed. Many thanks!  
**Sternenlicht**- Guten Tag! I'd attempt more German but it's about 7 in the morning as I write this and I'm too tired to translate. But I do speak German! Sometimes. Thanks for the review, and if I hadn't noticed your penname I never would've known you weren't a native English speaker!  
**fabala4077**- Ah! I thought the penname was from Wicked! And I'm glad you liked the flashback- it just sort of felt right, so I stuck it in.  
**Kelly Tolkien**- Thanks for your review!  
**Verunchik**- Your adorable review convinced me to stretch this out a bit longer. Thanks muchly!  
**AzureOcelot**- I'm glad that scene worked out the way I wanted it to. Once I was looking over it before I posted the chapter, I became irrationally afraid that it wasn't enough to push Silas over the edge. And I hope this was fast enough for you!  
**Seraphine**- I'm glad you liked the way I portrayed Silas and Aringarosa's relationship! I was hoping it worked, but no one had commented on it before you. Many thanks!  
**Jewlin-chan**- Thanks for the review!  
**Crayne**- Thanks for your review- it got me going again on this fic!

"_Heaven bend to take my hand  
And lead me through the fire  
With a long awaited answer  
To a long and painful fight  
Truth be told, I've tried my best  
But somewhere along the way  
I got caught up in all there was to offer  
And the cost was so much more than I could bear_..."- _Fallen,_ Sarah McLachlan (Listen to the whole song. It really fits this final part, especially Victor's feelings.)

* * *

Sublimation- Part Three

"So you lost Silas."

Bishop Aringarosa's statement was just that: a statement. It wasn't accusing or even disappointed. He was just confirming a fact.

"I've looked everywhere for him, Father, but no one has seen him since the retreat." Victor's head was still in his hands, where it seemed to have been for the two days. He'd barely been able to look the stained glass windows of Opus Dei's enormous church in the eye. "I don't know what to do."

"Silas isn't like any other person either of us has met, Victor. He can't be dealt with in the same way."

"I know. I thought I understood him- at least a little bit. I thought I knew his limits. I thought he was ready..."

"That sounds a bit too much like 'if only,' Victor. Whatever happened, happened. You must let it go now and wait for Silas to come to you."

Victor was scarcely conscious of how long he waited for Silas to come back- to come home. He tried to follow the Bishop's advice and move on with his life, but he had discovered that he no longer had a life outside of Silas. The mortally shy albinohad become Victor's sole work and his closest friend. He was privately hurt that Silas didn't feel able to ask for Victor's help after what happened at the retreat.

A particularly bleak day arrived, five days after Silas first went missing. The world outside Opus Dei was a white confusion, not quite a storm but not a silent night either. Victor was almost asleep on his small pallet when he felt that queer shiver run up and down his spine again. He sat up and put his feet on the cold floor just in time to watch the door to his room open.

"Silas."

The larger man swayed on his feet. Victor had to rush to catch him. The moment he did, he felt the dangerous heat emanating from his skin, which was no longer the palest white but an unhealthy shade of pinkish red.

"She said I would look nice with a tan." He laughed drunkenly. "I don't even know what that word means, exactly, but it was in her eyes. I tried, Victor. I tried very hard."

Victor bit back a litany of curses that would've made anyone nearby faint as he pulled Silas's naked form over to his pallet and lay him down there.

"Where have you been?"  
"I was out in the snow."

"For five days."

"I don't know."

Victor closed his eyes and began to say a prayer. Silas had started to cough.

"We have to get you to a hospital. Promise me you'll stay here while I get help."

"Don't go." Silas scrabbled for a hold on Victor and eventually caught his hand. Red eyes wavered to find his.

"You're the one who left me, Silas. You have no idea how worried I've been." His voice was hot with anger, but he pushed the burst away by brushing his hand through his hair. Silas withdrew his hand, burying it under the blanket he'd been given. He dropped his eyes, the perfect image of a scolded child.

"I'm not really mad at you, okay? It's just... I'm still worried." He sighed. "I'll be back in a couple minutes. And I'll see if I can stay with you in the car when we take you to the hospital."

Even though Victor was seething with anger and fear, as he went to find out if there was a car he could use his predominant feeling was one of relief. The prodigal son was home.

* * *

The antiseptic smell of the hospital altered when Bishop Aringarosa entered to the scent of the incense that had burned at a thousand Masses. He was dressed in simple black robes but still managed to look regal, even in his distress.

He, of course, wasn't paying any attention to his surroundings. He was focused only on finding the room he'd been told Silas was in. When he did, Victor was seated outside. He rose immediately.

"I thought you were going back to Rome, Father."

"I canceled my plane once I got your call. How is he?"

"He's got the works. Hypothermia, malnutrition, dehydration. The doctors are surprised he's still alive, but they think he stands a chance of survival now that he's here."

"I thought he'd never do this again." Aringarosa whispered.

"He's done this before?"

"In Spain. He used to go missing for days at a time when I first took him in. He always came back, listened to me lecture him, and cowered for days. But he hadn't done it in such a long time, and never in such harsh conditions..." He shook his head. "I must go see him."

The pale green of the hospital bed and the walls around it did little to improve Silas's complexion. Aringarosa's heart seized up at the sight of all the machines attached to his son, who had always seemed beyond this world. In a way it made him stronger, as if he was free of the current of life. Aringarosa wanted to believe he was, because it was a brutal river at best. It helped him sleep at night to think that Silas was already saved.

But now, seeing him like this... he realized that his son was far from it.

"Why did you do this, Silas?" He asked, taking a seat.

Silas eyes opened slowly and he gave a soft groan at the stress of waking up. He flinched when Aringarosa put his hand on his shoulder, and opened his eyes wide when he saw who it was.

"Father! I didn't know you were coming to see me."

"Don't sound so shocked. You're in the hospital. How could I not?" He flowed into Spanish without thinking. Silas followed him, hanging his head.

"It's just that I haven't seen you in so long. I didn't think you'd know I was hurt."

"Of course I knew. I ask after you as often as I can."

"You've never asked_me_ how I am." His voice was soft, buried in his chest, as if he was ashamed to ask for the small favor of being noticed.

Aringarosa sighed again and put his head in his hands. He couldn't recall the last time he'd felt fully rested.

"It is only because I am afraid that you have been relying on me for too long. You must find your own path, not follow in my shadow."

"Is that why you gave me to Victor? You didn't want me anymore?"

"I didn't give you to anyone. You aren't property to be traded. I simply needed someone who could care for you when I couldn't. You wouldn't get what you deserved from me, Silas. I couldn't give you everything you deserve."

Silas kept his eyes on his hands. The room was silent but for the determined beeping of the heart rate monitor.

"I do enjoy Victor's company," Silas said. "But I miss you, Father."

"I know, my son. Things have changed so much since we met, haven't they? But don't be afraid. In the end, everything will have been for the better."

* * *

A week later, Victor came to take Silas home. They sat in silence in the car as Victor drove them back towards Opus Dei. In Silas's lap was a folded piece of paper meant to be a card-

_Get better soon Silas  
Isabelle_

-was all it said. Victor wasn't sure if he should give it to Silas or not, afraid that the charmingly backwards 's' in his name would send him into another flight. He had accepted it quietly enough, holding it in his hands like it was the holiest relic and staring at it during the whole ride.

"Hey, do you wanna get something to eat? I don't think our restaurant is serving pancakes at the moment, but it's still worth a shot."

"No, thank you."

More inane silence. They'd reached a particularly congested area of traffic. Victor drummed his hands on the steering wheel.

"Victor... it's not enough."

"What?"

"My service to God. It isn't enough."

Victor recognized thin ice when he stepped on it, and so he began to step lightly.

"Opus Dei believes that man must find a way to serve God in every day life. It can be done in something as simple as keeping a garden. It just depends on what feels right for you. Do you have an idea of what you want to do?"

"I want my work to come from within myself. I am unclean."

"I already gave you the cilice and the Discipline." Victor's heart sped up. A vague fear was crouched behind him, and he was too paralyzed to turn and see what it was.

"They aren't enough."  
"Maybe we could try meditation. We can go on a retreat- just you and I, Silas, don't get scared -and really think about this."

"You seem to enjoy retreats."

"Maybe I'm as scared of the real world as you are."

"Is that why you joined Opus Dei?"

"Not exactly," The traffic began to flow again and Victor was forced to concentrate on driving, giving him a moment to sum up his thoughts. "I visited the building with my youth group in my senior year of high school. I was an okay student, but nothing inspired me, not even the colleges my parents took me to visit. I just didn't fit in anywhere. When we visited Opus Dei, something about it felt right. Serving God, helping others... it was everything I loved to do. It was a safe place. A place I'd never have to worry about getting a good job or falling in love or paying taxes. I guess it was the easy way out.

"What you could learn from my story is that the right path isn't always clear right away. I spent two years being hounded by counselors to take interest in something, to make a plan for my future, and failing to do so. But when the right path reveals itself, you always know. It's the good old lightening bolt moment." He turned away from the road to face Silas. "So what do you say to that retreat?"

Silas retreated into his robe of silence for a minute or so. Victor's hands tightened on the steering wheel and he began to drive a little faster.  
"I'll do it." Silas said at last. But the statement didn't lessen the tension in the air.

* * *

A week later and they were dizzy with jetlag in a small airport in Spain. Silas told him he wanted to go back to the small chapel where Bishop Aringarosa had found him those years ago, and there they were. It was derelict now, but in that peculiar way of some buildings it looked more beautiful for being a ruin. Silas's feet guided him into the back where he and Father Manuel used to live, while Victor hovered in the chapel. Their beds had been torn into by rats and the few pictures that had hung on the wall were gone now. Stolen, likely. He hoped it was an orphan who stole them, and that they brought to the homeless child a sense of faith- or at least an honest meal.

They'd only brought what food they'd need to stay alive, a blanket and a pillow each, and some money for emergencies. Victor had a cell phone, but he'd turned it off in the airport and hadn't touched it since.

"Are you ready?" He asked. A bat flew over their head in the rafters, blocking out for a moment the sunlight dripping down a hole in the roof.

Silas nodded.

Prayer, they both knew, was personal for everyone. No one prayed in the same way. Victor simply knelt were he stood, right underneath the hole in the roof. The Spanish sun wrapped him in a cocoon of warmth and light and he closed his eyes, dropping away from the world.

It took Silas a few moments more to settle himself into the same state of mind. He had to look around, assuring himself they were alone, and then he knelt a few feet away from Victor, in the shadows. The cold darkness numbed his senses, made him forget the tedious problems of his corporal form. Darkness could help him reach for God's light.

His thoughts slunk away one by one until he was left alone in his hollow shell, waiting for the divine to fill him up. He expected all his fears to rush in first, but instead he was left weightless. His mind drifted through the church, each part of it as familiar as the contours of his hated skin. The answer lay here, and he knew it. This was where he first found God, where everything felt clearer. This was where he would find God again.

His mind settled on the doorway of the chapel. It brought to mind a cold night, one he had had never remembered before. It was the night that he lay outside the house of God, when Father Manuel came out and found him.

He remembered very clearly the bone-chilling cold, although the memory had no sights for him. His eyes were closed. The next thing that came to mind was an overwhelming scent- first the dull scent of stale sweat, and then a sharp copper tang. Blood.

A wind stirred over him and he could feel the oozing cuts and bruises covering him, so that for once his skin was not a deathly pale. He remembered that his body felt just this light, ready to be carried up to God by a strong enough breeze. He felt clean without the gross realities of being a mortal. His pain made him feel closer to God. His pain made Father Manuel take pity on him and take him in. If he had been healthy and whole, a normal person who had never been to prison, he never would've been taken in. He wouldn't have been worthy without all that suffering.

And then the lightening bolt came. Silas opened his eyes and new, with absolute certainty, what he had to do.

* * *

When they got back to Opus Dei a few days later, Victor watched Silas with anxiety. They spent two days fasting and praying in the old chapel and Silas hadn't spoken at all. His face had assumed an odd sort of blankness. Silas usually didn't wear a mask like that. The fears that plagued him usually danced in his eyes for Victor to see and confront.

He hoped this blankness was serenity, and that Silas had found what he was looking for in the Spanish church. All he could do was wait until Silas came forward and told him what he was feeling.

It was a week later when he did, during the first week of the new year, a time of resolutions and new beginnings, when all the old ghosts were already laid to rest. It didn't seem that they were peacefully at rest, however; another storm was brewing outside.  
As usual, Silas appeared at night when Victor was just getting ready for bed. He stood patiently in the doorway, waiting to be acknowledged.

"Is there something you want to tell me?" Victor asked without preamble, sitting on his narrow cot.

Silas entered and pulled over the room's one chair so that he could sit before the other numerary. Looking at him, Victor realized that he never really thought of Silas as a numerary. He always thought of him as a monk, the kind of tortured ascetic that lived in a cliff top monastery centuries ago.

"I know what I must do. My path."

Victor grinned. "I knew the trip would help. Do you want to tell me what you found?"

Silas seemed uncomfortable with the smile, so Victor wiped it away. He dropped his eyes, looking at his folded white hands, and then met Victor's eyes again.

"I must repent."

Victor felt his stomach start to go cold.

"We've been through this. I gave you the cilice." His throat was dry, his words a weak attempt to block what he knew was coming.

"It isn't enough."

Silas's road was revealed in front of him in a white-hot flash.

_Oh, Silas, you are Eve reaching for the apple.  
_  
"Please, don't do this." His voice was breathy.

"It is my path. It is the only way."

"There's nothing else I can give you."

"Yes, there is."

He had heard. Victor didn't know where, but he had heard.

The small window of Victor's sparse room burst open without warning, bringing with it a stampede of snow. Neither man noticed it. It was one of those rare moments when the world ceased to spin, a terribly clear moment. Snowflakes rested on Silas's skin and thenmelted away.

"Help me, Victor." Silas whispered, undaunted by the storm that had invaded their lives. "I know you can. I know my path. I need you to help me."

Victor felt his whole body shiver as his heart shattered inside. It was like watching a train wreck, except it was his own body crashing. He was powerless to stop himself. He could only watch from a short distance away as he gave in to those pleading eyes.

* * *

A/N-- And it all goes downhill from there... again, I'm sorry I kept you waiting! I went to the _Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man's Chest_ world premiere at Disneyland and since then I've been really tired (16 hours waiting in the sun for the red carpet arrivals was pretty damn exhausting, but I got some autographs and a picture with Keira Knightley).

Anyway, the next section is already pretty much done, so I'm just waiting for your reviews to post it! Let me know what you thought!


	4. Chapter 4

A/N-- Many thanks for the reviews! I love the support I get from all of you... and I'd hate to abuse it, but I'd like to ask all of you who enjoy Pirates of the Caribbean to hop over to the story I co-authored. It might not be that fantastic, but it's just the first story of five and it's dear to our hearts, and we've hardly gotten any reviews. So please take out the spaces and hop on over- ( http / www. fanfiction. net/ s/ 1822541/ 1/ ) -After you read this, of course. :-) 

**MidnightCrane**- Thanks for the review! I did take away some of Silas's harshness on purpose. I wanted to show a softer side, before he became a homicidal maniac. He can't have always been that way.  
**Seraphine**- Thanks for your review! I was blushing when I read it. The compliments keep me going.  
**Sternenlicht**- Thank you for the compliment!  
**FuchsiaII**- Wow, the beginning of your review freaked me out! I read the first sentence and thought I was going to get my first bad review for this, but it turned out to be a very good review. The kind that nourish a writer's soul.. Many thanks!  
**Kelly Tolkien**- Yea, the premiere was pretty awesome! Thanks for taking the time to review!  
**shikongewl**- I actually didn't get to see the movie, but I did see the stars on the carpet. Thanks for the review!  
**fabala4077**- Wow, I'm flattered that this is your favorite! And I was at the beach the other day, but I was too busy getting eaten by waves to think of Silas. What you said is very true, and I wish I had a chance to add it! Maybe I'll do a one-shot with that... or something...

Just a warning- this chapter finally has corporal mortification in it. Its nothing worse than in the books, but I thought I'd warn you anyway.

For those who don't know, _Mea culpa_ means _Through my fault_ in Latin.

* * *

Sublimation- Part Four 

Weeks. Weeks and he had not touched them. His marble skin remained flawless, his muscled thigh not tasted by the metal teeth. He stood in his room and stared at the path he had chosen. He was sick with himself.

He was Silas, a man saved from prison by God. He was Silas, who used to be a ghost. But there were times in this echoing marble edifice that he lost his ties to the world again. There were times when he was alone in his room in the middle of the night and he forgot that he was human. He needed something to remind him he was flesh and blood and bone, tied to this earth, doomed to perish. The knowledge that he would die would remind him that he was alive. That he was not a ghost.

But he was afraid to become human again. He was afraid of that childish drawing- Monster in Crayon -and everything it had shown him. As a ghost he could pass unnoticed, a slight anomaly in God's design. As a human, he became an abomination. A pale slave to love, in need of confirmation and acceptance. Vulnerable to denial.

_But why does it have to be this way?_The tiny voice inside sounded remarkably like Victor's.

_Because I am cowardly and low.__I am a nonbeliever deep inside.__Yo soy una fantasma.  
_  
_Because I am afraid._

He took the heavy braided leather of the Discipline in his hand and was shocked, as he always was, by its weight. Not its physical weight, but the weight of everything it implied. He opened and closed his hand around it and couldn't bring himself to raise it. With reverence, he placed it back on the chair and turned to his small sleeping cot.

From beneath it he dragged out his mirror. It was a small one, only big enough to allow him to see his own face. He stared at his reflection. When he had tried to take the first steps down his new path and faltered, he thought his stutters were only because he lacked motivation. So he found the mirror and tried to force himself into hatred or anger, any emotion strong enough to make him pick up the Discipline.

Yet every time before when he did so it brought only a wave of regret- _why wasn't I born perfect?_

The mirror nearly fell from his hands at the sound of a knock on the door.

"Silas? Can I come in?"

Silas wracked his brain, and then realized that it was Tuesday. The day he and Victor normally went out for breakfast.

"I am staying here today, Victor. You should go to breakfast alone."

"At least come down to the chapel with me. You haven't been to Mass in a while."

"No, thank you, Victor."

Silence sat outside his door for a long while afterwards.

"I'm going away for a while. Another retreat. I'll see you when I come back."

After an eternity of more silence, Silas registered the heavy sound of Victor walking away. Neither of them had the heart to say good-bye.

Silas closed his eyes, feeling the dull thud of disappointed tears behind them. Victor had helped him onto this path, and then Silas pushed him away. He had been nothing but kind, nothing but giving. And he was letting him down.

When Silas looked at his reflection now, the hate boiled free and dark, a poisonous sludge in his veins. He seized the nearby Discipline with a shout and struck blindly. The sharp leather tongues curled around his ribs and his back with a loud crack, then fell lifeless at his side.

Silas froze. His eyes bulged but all that was before them was darkness. He couldn't breathe at the sudden, exquisite agony. One shaking hand went to his bare skin and came away with drops of blood on it. He raised the Discipline before him again. He clenched it in his fist. He felt something inside him die and something else become stronger all at once. He struck over his shoulder this time. Harder. He threw all of his body into it, coiling like a writhing snake. His skin prickled with fresh blood.

_Not enough._

Again. Blood flowed. And again, and again, and again. He fell to his knees. The Discipline slid from his hands. He reached for the cilice and strapped it to his thigh. The pain of metal teeth biting into his muscle tore him from consciousness.

* * *

Weeks. Weeks went by but not a day passed when Silas's hand didn't itch to feel the Discipline in it. It was closer than a lover to him. He lost consciousness with it in his hand and woke still clutching it. He removed the cilice only on Sunday. The pain was addictive. He never went far from his room; he was too eager for the pure, raw feeling of letting go, and at the same time being in control. Of being _human_. 

Then Victor came back from his retreat.

It was a Sunday, nearly two months after the other numerary first appeared silently in Silas's room, handed him the new cilice and the Discipline, and disappeared. Silas had gone to one of the chapels in the higher levels of the building, far away from where the other numeraries went. It was small, as far as the chapels in Opus Dei went, but in keeping with the Catholic tradition it had an enormous stained glass window. It was an image of Christ on the Cross, and that was why it was Silas's favorite chapel. He didn't dare put himself on par with the Son of God, but the pain that wracked his body did make him feeling closer to his Lord.

The image faced the street and reminded Silas of the picture he'd seen on his retreat, the picture that Isabelle found him near. He didn't hate her for her honesty; he loved her. If it hadn't been for her, he never would've found his path.

It was there that Victor found him.

The day was very still, but not quite calm. The occasional breaths of air had a feel of the resigned to them. Silas stood before the window, blood still trickling down his back and the coarse fibers of his robe irritating his cuts, and felt completely at peace. He no longer needed to stand in darkness to feel light and empty, ready for God to fill him. It hadn't occurred to him yet that he wished desperately to be human, but always sought to lose contact with his body when he yearned for God's peace. He didn't hear Victor come in.

"It's been a while, Brother." Victor smiled as he said it. "Have you missed me?"

"Of course. How was the retreat?"

"Great, but I missed our breakfasts. Did you go without me?"

"No."  
"Then we'll have to go tomorrow. You've probably been cooping yourself up again." He grinned, slapping Silas on the back.

Agony, a white hot iron across his eyes, blackness, sudden waking. Victor was above him, his gray-green eyes fraught with worry.

"What happened, Silas?"

"Nothing." He wheezed, pulling himself swaying to his feet.

Victor's gasp made his stomach drop. Silas turned and saw that the blood had soaked through his robe, so that when he fell he made a bloody mirror image of the one on the window.

"Is this from...?"

"It is my path. I have found more peace through this than anything else in my life."

"You were only supposed to use this once or twice a week! It wasn't supposed to happen like this!" Victor's eyes were wide with horror. Fading sunlight from the window at his back framed him. He was a hallowed image, handsome and young. He was no monster.

_Look at him_, the sneering voice in Silas's head whispered. _He's just as disgusted as everyone else._

"This is my path. You_helped_ me!"

"No, I didn't. My God, I shouldn't have given you those. This is wrong, Silas. Please let me really help you this time. This isn't the right path!"  
"You can't tell me what's wrong and what's right! I just want to feel alive!"

Silas didn't know what language he screamed it in. All he knew was that he screamed so loud it made his head dizzy with the lack of breath. His vision flooded with sparks, and he nearly lost consciousness once more. He was hardly aware of himself for uncounted moments afterwards.

It was only when he saw the red glass falling to the ground like so many drops of blood and felt the cold winter air sighing around him, leaving pinpricks of moisture like tears on his skin, that he realized what he had done.

* * *

Bishop Manuel Aringarosa sat in his rooms in Opus Dei's New York Headquarters and prayed with all his soul for the phone not to ring. At the same time, all of his senses were attuned to the simple cell phone, waiting for the sound of the call. 

Even though the cell phone on the table wasn't his and he'd only received a call on it once before, Aringarosa was already familiar with the ringtone. Hearing the mundane sound of his regular phone was a jarring sensation.

He rose, crossed himself, and answered it. He had to cross himself again when he heard the news.

"Dead? Right in front of Opus Dei? Was he a member? ...so there is no way of knowing yet. Have the police been contacted? ...Good. Tell them to move the body quickly and not to involve the media. Have someone else identify it. I'd oversee myself, but I'm busy tonight. Thank you, Sister."

If Aringarosa hadn't known it to be a mortal sin, he would've begun to contemplate suicide. The night couldn't move much further downhill. On top of these orders from the Vatican and the call he was waiting for, there was a dead man outside of Opus Dei. Apparently pushed from one of the upper levels.

He was just kneeling down to pray when there was a strange sound on the door. It was just a faint but growing vibration at first, until it graduated into an urgent knock. Every instinct told him that it was not a saint, come to earth to help him, but the Bishop couldn't stop himself from opening the door.

"Silas! You're shaking!"

"Mea culpa, Father," Silas whispered as soon as the door closed, falling to his knees. "Mea culpa."

"How have you sinned, my son?"

Silas looked up at him with beseeching eyes. In a moment of clarity he could see into them. He saw white hands balled onto black robes, a sturdy body soaring through the air like a feather, heard the crash of glass and the sickening crunch of bones on concrete, and the sound of a phone ringing when it shouldn't.

When he thought of the message he was to receive that night, he realized that nothing that had happened was out of place. It was simply all the threads coming together.

"Victor is the one who died, isn't he?"

Silas gave the faintest of nods.

"I killed him. Maybe I'm beyond saving, Father"

"Never say that."

At that moment, the cell phone rang. In two swift strides Aringarosa reached it and answered. For upwards of a minute he listened to the French voice on the other side and nodded, agreeing when it was required of him. Then there was the sound of the phone line going dead, as chilling as a flat-line on a heart rate monitor. Aringarosa hung up and sat down heavily on his couch, feeling a bone deep weariness. Silas remained kneeling near the door, his eyes glazed with something like terror.

"Rise, my son."

He did so, limping heavily on his right foot.

"Did you hurt yourself?"

"I found a way to do God's work."

Aringarosa sucked in his breath; the acrid scent of blood filled his nose. He realized what his son had been doing without him there to guide him. There was no doubt that Victor was not at fault for this; but Aringarosa couldn't help blaming himself.

"If there was a way other than this, would you do it?"

"...yes." The pain in his voice hurt worse than the thoughts of the injuries on his white body.

"I need your help, Silas. I have found you a mission that will cleanse you in God's eyes. You will become one of his strongest soldiers. And then, God willing, you won't need to do this anymore."

"I can't leave now, Father. I have murdered a man. A good man. My only friend."

"Was anyone there when it happened?"

"No."

"Then you can vanish again. Very few people know you here." _No one will notice you are gone_. It hung in the air, unspoken.

"I am still a ghost." Silas whispered in a voice full of defeat.

"Cover yourself well," Aringarosa continued, moving to a trunk nearby. With a hesitating hand he removed the gun that Silas had put to his own head years ago in Spain. "And take this. I need you to meet someone at a small restaurant down the street."

"And once I am there?"

"Find a man in the back corner booth. He will give you instructions from someone called the Teacher. Find a pay phone and call me here when you are done, and we will go from there."

"Thank you." Silas said, taking the gun, his red eyes filled with nothing but pure, simple gratitude.

Aringarosa took him through the women's dormitories and out into the side street. He didn't need to point him on his way. Silas knew where he was going; it was the same restaurant that he and Victor had gone to every week to share the small indulgence of a little syrup. It was fitting; his old life was ending and his new one was beginning in the same place. He was still filled with nothing but gratitude and love. He didn't realize that Aringarosa had already seen the end of this new life. He had already killed him, as surely as Victor lay dead on the street not far away.

Silas left without a word of good-bye, disappearing into the shadows. Even Aringarosa had to look twice to assure himself that he had really been by. Later that night he went into the computers and deleted all the evidence that Silas had ever been a member of Opus Dei; he even put the page of a coloring book that had been sent to them with a child's words at the top- I'm sorry -in his fire. The only thing that remained to say that the ghost had actually lived was the thin trail of blood left in his wake.

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A/N-- Well, I hope you enjoyed the ending! I'll have the epilogue up soon! 


	5. Epilogue

A/N-- Okay guys, here's the very end! 

**FuchsiaII**- Woa, don't harm yourself because of my story! lol. But you're absolutely right- the Discipline isn't about religion at all. That's what I was going for and I'm glad you reached the same conclusion. I've actually written a novel and I'm working on polishing it up a bit before I submit it to a publisher... so maybe you will see a book by me soon!  
**fabala4077**- You're absolutely right: there is no happy ending for Silas. And I know the feeling of loving your characters that much! Thankfully, I knew Victor was marked for death before I really fleshed out his character, so I wasn't attached to him until the very end. But it still hurt to kill him! lol. Thanks for your reviews!  
**Sternenlicht**- Wow, that's some high praise! I'm glad you liked the chapter so much!  
**Kelly Tolkien**- I'm happy to be compared to Dan Brown- God knows I'd like to be as successful as he is! I was snooping around your profile and I couldn't help but notice that you're Irish- LUCKY! -cries because she wants to be Irish but is stuck being American- I'm going to marry an Irishman, somehow. Then I can at least be Irish by marriage. But until then I'll just sulk and be jealous of you and your awesome accents. lol! Thanks for all your reviews!  
**storm-of-insanity**- Thanks for the review! I'm glad you noticed that I didn't make Opus Dei seem completely insane. I actually researched a bit about them before I wrote this fic because I wanted to make sure that everyone realized that this is just Silas being crazy, not an entire organization.

This is set at the very end of _the Da Vinci Code_. In the movie Silas dies instantly, right at the Opus Dei house, but this didn't fit where I was going with this so I stayed with the book. For anyone who didn't read it,in the book he rushes Aringarosa to the hospital, then lets himself die slowly in Kensington Gardens.

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_Sublimation- Epilogue_

Silas knows that as he dies he should be confessing his last sins. He should feel the weight of them lifting off his shoulders, making him ready to be carried off into eternity. He should be feeling the lightness he always feels in prayer. After all, he is in darkness and in pain, as he requires. It occurs to him that he has never been able to reach out to God on his own terms. He has always required something more.

He starts at the unfamiliar feel of a tear on his cheek. All this, and he has failed. He and Father Manuel are betrayed. The Grail is lost. He cannot even reach out to his Lord for salvation.

_There is no use crying now_, He tells himself.

He forces himself to look back through the whole of his mission, from the moment when the police ambushed Opus Dei and backwards. For the first time he feels guilt at killing the Grand Master and the three senechaux. How could he have been so righteous?

_I followed Father Manuel blindly, as he followed the Church. I fear that has been our greatest crime._

Inexorably, Silas is drawn back to the night when his mission began. The night, he recognizes now, that he ceased to exist. He was dead long before this bullet ever pierced his side.

Months later, he still cannot remember laying his hands on Victor. He remembers only afterwards, when he didn't even dare to look down and see the body. He remembers the cold steel of the gun in his hands all too well, remembers Sauniere's frightened face as if it were yesterday. It_was_ yesterday. Yet this crime, his oldest one, his unremembered one, is the one that haunts him the most.

_In the end, maybe the Priory of Sion really were blasphemers. Maybe I will be rewarded for trying to stop them. Maybe I am a soldier of God. But is their blood enough to wipe away that of my only friend?_

Silas prays harder. He can feel his chest begin to tighten as breathing gets harder and harder. He can no longer feel from his knees down, or from his elbows to his hands. The cuts on his back and the cilice on his leg no longer torment him either. His body is dissolving into the arms of the mist. He is a ghost at last.

Then, just before his breathing stops, he feels a hand on his shoulder.

Silas feels a wild moment of fear, thinking that he has been discovered. He will be saved- no, he will be damned. Some good Samaritan will come by and take him to the hospital and deny him his final rest, and he will be damned. He will be forced to stand trial, to share every horrifying detail of his past, to be picked apart by judge and jury like an insect under a microscope.

"Leave me to die."

Silas tries feebly to ward off the hand, but then it leaves of its own accord. Then its owner stands before him.

"Hello, Brother."

Silas's heart stops at the sight of Victor's eyes, the last image of his most heinous crime that he can remember.

* * *

Silas is on his back, but he doesn't know how he got there. He can't even feel it, really. He just knows that he is on his back because he is looking at the sky.

"Sit up." The voice is familiar and gentle, and Silas obeys without thinking, as he always does. He is face to face with Victor.

"Victor," He breathes, although no breath passes his lips. "Have you come to take me?"

"Yes," The voice is grave, the eyes a little sad.

"Where?"

"You will see."

Victor raises Silas to his feet. He is still wearing the clothes Silas last saw him in, but there is no blood on him. His handsome face is still intact.

"Victor, forgive me."

"It is not for me to forgive."

"Do you hate me?"

"It is not in me to hate."

"It is in me," Silas whispers with shame. "I hated you when I killed you. And afterwards I hated myself."

"I felt it, Silas. It hurt me more than you will know. But the fact that you killed me doesn't make you evil. It was simply part of your path."

"Then I was born to sin?"

"No. Just... think of it this way. Everything you have done, from the moment we met, has served a purpose for us both. I learned tolerance and patience from helping you. I learned of a new kind of suffering. I feel no anger at my own death, Silas. The first emotion I remember feeling afterwards is fear. I was horrified by my death, because I knew what it would do to you. I was afraid it would destroy you. The pain of my death is nothing compared to the pain it caused you." His voice falters. "If I hadn't pushed you so hard that day, I might have found a different way to save you. If I hadn't died, none of... this ever would've happened."

His quest was as useless as he thought.

Silas wants to cry. He thinks he is crying, in fact, but he can't feel the tears on his cheeks.

"Your path was to learn. Was mine to suffer?"

"Yes. You were a twisted soul, bent out of shape by a hard life. It is only natural that in unbending you, you should suffer once more. But you have arrived at the end of your path at last. Death heals all wounds, they say...

"I don't understand. I have been a sinner. I have done nothing to deserve salvation. I failed God- I'm not even sure that Father Manuel and I were really serving Him." Silas feels the tide of anger rising in him. "I don't understand!"

Victor won't answer at first. He looks away from Silas, his head tilted down. For a moment a ray of sunlight passes straight through him, as if he weren't really there at all. Silas raises his own hand, clenched in fury, and then relaxes it slightly. The light passes through him too.

"It was part of your path, Silas. I was meant to think I could save myself by saving you. You were meant to think you could save yourself by protecting the Church. And now..." A quiet smile. "Now."

"Am I saved?"

Victor turns away.

"Come on. We've got a ways to go." Victor begins to walk away. Silas follows with hesitation.

"Where are we going?"

"Don't you remember? It's Tuesday!"

Tuesday. The day of small indulgences, when they removed themselves from their every day lives and found a kind of heaven in a rundown restaurant.

"You do realize, Victor, that we are in London. New York is a long ways away."

"I told you we've got a ways to go."

Silas continues to follow Victor, until he notices something that unsettles him. The landscape of Kensington Gardens hasn't changed, although Silas knows now that he is dead. Yet there is no light for him to head to, no chorus of heavenly voices calling him home. Bewildered, he turns to Victor with fear in his eyes.

"Am I a ghost?"

Victor smiles and puts an arm around Silas's shoulders.

"No. You are an angel."

They continue on their path.

_fin_

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A/N-- Well, there's the end folks. I never expected to receive such an overwhelming response to this fic and I'm eternally grateful for the support you gave me. I'm not sure if I'll be returning to write DVC fanfiction after this, but I will continue to read and review. I'll see you guys around! 


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